Burned
by Roza Freeborn
Summary: Hero would give anything to forget the life and the people that she left behind, but, when that life comes calling, she's going to have grin and bare it - or get killed trying. My second Fanfic! Whoo! Completely new characters and maybe a few oldies along the line... Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

"_Run, run, run away, run away baby, before I put my spell on youuuu…"_

I tapped my Converse-clad foot in the air where it hung over my knee, the boom-box beside me thudding away to Bruno Mars's jazzy tones. The clear black sky above stretched as far as it could before running up against the wall of skyscrapers surrounding me. A haze of orangey light circled the horizon of buildings, highlighting the city in a pale, eerie glow and preventing the stars from showing their sparkly little faces. The concrete under my back was cold and hard, but I'd slept on worse. It was better than down on the streets. And at least no one could call me a hobo up here.

Ignoring the fact that I _was_ a hobo. That was beside the point.

And no one could mug me up here either. For a homeless person, I had some valuable shit. What, with the boom-box, the _real deal_ Converse All-Stars, and the set of silver stakes tucked away in my backpack – oh, yeah. I was worth quite a few mints. And not just because of what I _had_ either. _Who_… well, maybe more _what_ I was automatically plastered a ginormous bounty on my pretty little head.

But I wasn't going to think about that. Because every time I let myself go there, I was doomed to yet another long, sleepless night. And I had work to do tomorrow. I couldn't afford to be tired.

So I was going stop thinking about it.

Right now.

"Ah, shit…" I swore at myself, my nose wrinkling. I reached over and turned the boom-box up as high as I could without having building security come down on my ass. When that didn't work, I began to sing along, clear, melodious notes working their way up from the bass of my chest and out of my mouth. I knew all the songs word-for-word. That tends to happen when you spend as much time as I have alone, hungry, and dead-beat broke, with nothing to turn to but music.

I'd figured out how to make money for myself after a few lonely months, wondering the streets of each new town or city, hoping like hell that there was at least one kind person decent enough to help a stray out without calling the cops. I'd had quite a few close calls with that tactic.

Then, I'd found New York.

"…_Concrete jungle where dreams are made of, there's nothing you can't do. Now you're in New York…"_ I sung absently, barely even concentrating on the words. I slipped smoothly into rapping along with JayZ without really thinking about it.

I'd met a group of dancers while wondering around Times Square, trying not to look like a total tourist with my mouth hanging open and my bag clutched tightly and slung over one shoulder, my baseball cap pulled down to an extreme angle across my eyes. It had been getting late and I'd desperately needed a place to crash after four hours stowed away on the back of a freight train and an hour of hard-out running from the cops that had found me there. Then there were the things that came out with the darkness… Things that normal, regular people don't know about until it's too late. Yeah, I got real lucky that night.

_My clothes were rumpled and dirty and people were giving me weird looks. _Maybe I smell,_ I thought in horror, resisting the urge to sniff myself._

_I stood by the side of the road for quite a while, trying to figure out the best way to cross without getting squished. I watched the New Yorkers weave between the cars almost absentmindedly, barely even looking at where they were going._ They're insane. They're all completely, utterly nuts,_ was all that I could come up with to describe the big, scuttling wad of people as I shook my head in disbelief._

_Finally, I thought I'd figured out a way: run like hell._

_I hurried off the footpath and across the cram-packed street, almost getting sideswiped by more than one bright yellow taxi. An angry looking, middle-aged Asian guy yelled obscenities at me, shaking his fist in the air like something from a bad cartoon._

"_You crazy girl! You no good! No good! Crazy, no good, kid–"_

_I spun and leapt to the side to avoid running into another cab and collided instead with a broad, solid chest._

"_Hey! What the–"_

_We went down in a heap and the incredibly muscled black guy ended up with me on his chest and a tangled mess of badly dyed coal-black hair in his face. My hat ended up on the other side of the sidewalk and I only just managed to hook the strap of my bag in my elbow as it flew after it. I sputtered apologies left, right and centre as I pushed myself off him and launched back to my feet. I kept my head down and tried not to look at any of their faces as I turned and ran – straight into another guys arms._

"_Whoa, _Chiquilla," _a lilting, heavily accented __voice intercepted my escape. With the help of a big, rock-hard pair of arms. "Hang on a second."_

"_I said sorry!" I yelled in his face, momentarily forgetting how much bigger than me he was._

_The Spanish guy's eyebrows shot up, a bemused look taking over his firmly built face, and there was a small minute of silence in the group of guys, broken by the chatter of voices around us and the blare of a horn and other city grumblings. Then they laughed. Like, _really_ laughed. I couldn't tell whether it was directed at me or if they were just laughing at the way I'd said it. I think it was a little bit of both._

_I stared around at them, __befuddled, until the Spanish one spoke again and my head snapped around so fast I swore I felt it click. He was still holding me by my biceps and he had to squat a little to come face to face with me. "_Chiquilla,_ we're not going to hurt you." I blew at the stringy hair that hung limply in my face. He tilted his head at me, as if I was some sort of pet that he was trying to find a name for. Sure enough, he asked the obvious question. "What's your name, _pequeño ratón?"

_A few laughs ran through the group and I scowled at him, my jaw settling into what dad used to call my I'm-not-a-baby-and-you're-not-going-to-treat-me-like-one look. "What did you call me?" My voice rose threateningly at the end. I was really asking for trouble, but I was tired beyond caring and all I wanted was a hot bath and a warm bed._

"_Little shit, more like," the only guy that came even remotely close to white said, but when I turned my glare on him he was grinning. He was covered in tattoos ranging from snarling skulls to "_Maman_" written in sprawling calligraphy and circled with a love heart made of barbed wire. I thought he sounded French. "You've got yourself a daring tongue there, _petit fille."

"_Dude, she ain't a _little_ anything!" the African American guy I'd bowled over exclaimed, rubbing his back and grimacing. "I think she broke something…"_

"_Drama queen," the other, skinnier, but slightly taller black guy remarked._

"_What'd you say?"_

"_You heard what I said."_

"_You wonna go?"_

"Callarse! _We have young ears here! Jesus…" The Spanish guy shook his head and rolled his eyes. He refocused on me. He smiled, as if in apology. "Now, you might want to tell me what you call yourself before they start making up nicknames," he said in an even, soothing voice, like he was trying to persuade a feral cat to come to him._

_I tilted my chin up. "Hero." I wasn't about to tell anyone my last name – just in case._

_He grinned and stood straight. I was tall and lanky, like all my kind, but he still towered over my eight-year-old frame. He seemed to consider something for a moment, and then looked to the French guy. He nodded back._

"_Alright then, Miss Hero," he said lightly, strolling over and plucking my Dodgers cap from the dirty ground and brushing it off. He came back and pulled it over my hair, tugging the tip of it down a bit. I pushed it back up; looked at him. "Where are you sleeping tonight?"_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

I jerked awake with a barely suppressed gasp, the breath lodging in my throat. I hadn't meant to go to sleep and my boom-box was still spouting some sort of bass-filled dance number. I didn't know what had woken me up – that had been one of the kindest dreams I'd had in a while – but I knew it wasn't good. I could _feel_ it. Living on the streets for almost half your life gives you a knack for things like that.

I rolled and pushed myself into a half crouch, my eyes flicking around the rooftop, peering into every seemingly empty hidey-hole and cluster of shadows that looked big enough to hide something worth running from. Slowly, still searching the space around me, I reached out and turned the boom-box's volume nob down to "off". Silence dense enough to make me uneasy choked the cold night air, speared every now and then with the blast of a car horn and the mumble of thousands of people still out and about in the sprawling city bellow. Light from the skyscrapers around me cast eerie shadows that attached themselves to any object foolish enough to get caught in it. I knew whoever was up here with me would never be that stupid. I wouldn't see them until they were ready for me to.

Without thinking too hard about it, I snatched my bag from the ground and leapt, spinning to face the other way in the same movement. It killed me to leave my boom-box behind but I couldn't run properly with fifty pounds of metal on my shoulder – and my bag had my life in it. Literally. I knew I wouldn't survive two days without it. The pack hit my back with a muffled thud and then settled snuggly into its usual place between my shoulder blades as I forced my arms through the straps. I resisted the urge to look behind me, my shoes barely touching the hard grey concrete as I ran.

Straight for the edge of the roof.

Now, don't panic. I'd already scoped the place out, and this had been my best escape route. Just a few feet down and over was another building with three fire escapes branching off to the north and west - the east being blocked by a huge, seemingly unnecessary brick wall. The city was full of those. It was as if the builders had come along, built things, then looked at them and thought "Hang on. We didn't really need that, did we?" and walked off to put their next stuff-up together.

I took a deep breath as the ball of my foot hit the ankle-high wall that ran around the roof, and forced myself to keep up the momentum as I dove head first into the air. I don't think whoever I was running from expected me to be so prepared and I heard a vicious swear emanate from behind me. It almost made me smile.

I curled my body slightly in mid-air and my pack ended up taking the full brunt of the impact as the weightlessness of being airborne literally crashed to the ground. It still hurt, just not as much as it could have. I was suddenly extremely thankful for all the time I'd spent wrapping the stakes in layers of my clothes. It didn't matter that the stakes weren't charmed to put me down – a sharp stick will kill basically anything if you put enough force behind it. I flowed into a roll and surged to my feet, using the lingering drive from the fall to push me back into a sprint. I reminded myself to control my breathing as I knew it would take a while to shake whatever tail I had. A _long_ while. I couldn't afford to get all puffy after just a few measly miles.

The shadow cast by a hulking big air vent a few paces in front of me moved and that made the decision easy. My shoes skidded slightly as I whirled to the north fire escape. I just hoped there was no one waiting for me to do exactly that.

Yeah, because life is just that kind.

Not one, not two, but _three_ shapes emerged out of nowhere, almost completely blocking my only exit. I picked up the pace, if it were even possible, and cannoned straight into one of them. I think it was more surprise from the sudden attack than my actual strength that made him stagger and fall, his hands instinctively grabbing for me. His head hit the ground and he went limp as I landed on top of him. I didn't have time to hope that I hadn't actually killed him and I pushed off of him, launching over the two feet of space between me and the fire escape.

Because there are some very distinct differences between the two parties that were after me. One, I didn't have a white man's chance in Harlem of knocking a Strigoi off its feet – let alone knocking one out – and two, the undead didn't work in teams. Everyone who was lucky enough to have a set of fangs or a parent with some knew that.

So that just left the guardians. I'd spent countless sleepless nights trying to figure out which would be worse.

The other two dhampirs dove for me but I was already off the roof. The cold night air fluffed against my face as I flew. I actually over-jumped the fire escape completely, but just managed to reach out and wrap my fingers around the side bars. My arms were nearly ripped straight from their sockets as my body continued to fall. My fingers were jerked away from the cool metal and I didn't even have time to draw a breath before my shoes hit the fire escape with a loud, metallic clanging sound. My legs buckled and my knees cracked sharply as they smacked against the floor. My arms flew out in front of me, just barely halting my face on its way to being flattened. The world seemed to throb around me, an aching reflexion of my pulse pounding against my battered skull. The tinny ring of the still vibrating metal around me resounded in my ears. I tasted blood in my mouth and couldn't tell whether I'd bitten my lip or broken a tooth. My eyes stung with pain-filled tears.

I could hear shouts from above me and I forced my arms to push my suddenly leaden weight off the hard steel. My legs felt detached as I ordered them to do their job and hold me up. My hands tingled as I stumbled and had to catch myself on the railing. I only allowed myself enough time to squint upwards and take a few short breathes before I was off down the stairs. I'd fallen about three stories before catching the railing and then another one before pancaking myself on the tiny space between levels. The guardians had had enough time to put two of those stories behind them and they were moving a lot faster than I was. I basically fell down four flights of stairs in my dazed, hurrying state before finally regaining some sense of balance. I took the stairs two at a time and all but dove over the small turn spaces, but I could feel them getting steadily closer. I still had more than twenty stories to go and I knew I wouldn't get passed ten of them before my pursuers caught up with me. The only way I could've gotten to the ground before them was if I jumped, and I wasn't quite that suicidal.

I almost tripped as an idea slammed into me.

I ran a few more levels, my heart all but exploding in my chest and abruptly stopped. I risked a glance up only to jerk my head back down again in panic. Barely one level separated me from the first guardian. There was a window beside me and I backed up a little before hurling my foot towards it. It was an easy smash and it rang out, a nice, loud shatter. I quickly reached in and ripped the blinds down, casting them aside as if someone had trampled on them. I didn't know what went on inside the building but it must've been something important as there was a piercing wail and a hot red light flashed through the room. Hoping that the guys on night duty weren't heavy sleepers, I backed up and ducked under the railing, swinging under the level and hooking my legs through the underbars.

My hands were slick on the smooth, unmarred steel and the only thing that kept me hanging there was sheer force of will. My whole body was shaking, with fatigue and a big helping of fear. My bag was a backbreaking weight pulling me down and my arms burned as the guardians piled onto the landing above me. Their shadows hovered for a moment, indecisive. My breathing was loud and ragged and my lungs trembled as I drew in a huge mouthful of air and held it.

"Do you think she–"

Someone shushed the voice viciously. They all froze. My eyes widened until they hurt. My heart was pounding louder and louder in my chest as the air inside it grew stale, the pressure pushing against my ribs. _Can they hear it?_ The quaking in my limbs turned into an outright seizure. _Oh God, they can hear it…_

The silence stretched for a few, never-ending seconds and then a voice that sounded in charge spoke up, low and calm, with an undertone of power – like someone used to being top dog. A slight accent twisted the words in weird places. "You three – search the building. Meet us at the bottom. Not one scrap of paper gets left unturned, you hear me?" They answered with the crunch of light feet against broken glass. And then, there were two. My lungs were threatening to tear my chest apart. "You, come with me."

My arms almost didn't respond in time for me to pull myself closer to the underneath of the level above as the dhampirs quickly descended the stairs beside me.

"You don't think she went in, do you?" the other dhampir asked, just as he passed below me. My heart was screaming at me, pounding so hard I thought it might shake me from my hiding place.

The dhampir in charge – for the love of God – paused beneath me, and I risked tilting my head just enough to see him taking his time to lean over the bars and peer down into the darkness. I couldn't see their faces and didn't want to risk letting any more of my hair fall out of place. The following, thoughtful moments ticked away, mocking the frantic beating of my heart with their cool, calm and collected rhythm. Finally, the foreign guy answered. "I think she's smarter than she seems."

I waited until I could no longer feel the vibrations of their footsteps through the bars before unravelling my legs and swinging carefully down, still careful not to make any more noise than absolutely necessary. I fought the urge to curl up in a ball and nurse my aching _everything_, and began climbing again. This would probably be my only chance at getting my boom-box back, and I would be damned if I was going to pass it up.


End file.
